A Chasing After the Wind
by Ori
Summary: When life reaches rock bottom, it has no where to go but up. Gary Oak, Pokemon Master for fifteen minutes, grandson of a too famous researcher, eternal rival of Ash Ketchum, loser in everything that matters, is about to find out. egoshipping edited
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Pokemon and its respective characters do not belong to me.

* * *

**Chapter One – A Chasing After the Wind**

* * *

"_And Dragonite has done it! Lass is defeated and the new league master title goes to Lance!" the announcer said. The crowd grew wild. _

_In front of a twenty-four inch television, a nine and a half year old boy cheered as he danced around his little room._

_

* * *

_I cannot not remember what made that little boy so sure he could be the pokemon master one day. Perhaps he felt superior to everyone else because he obtained top marks in school. Perhaps he thought being the grandson of a world famous pokemon researcher guaranteed success. Or perhaps he was just young and stupid. Whatever the reason, becoming the master engulfed the mind and soul of my younger self. Everything in my life boiled down to that one goal, to that one dream. 

It was a dream, a very common dream. Which little boy did not want to be "cool" like Lance? Who would not want to stand in the middle of the stadium next to a Dragonite while the crowd cheers for no one but you? Indeed, too many children have the same fragile dream. At any given time there can only be one pokemon master. At any moment the title can be striped from the owner. Your statue remains in the Hall of Fame but you lose the glory of being _the_ master forever.

For some reasons, these odds escaped that little boy all through his childhood. Idealistic, unrealistic, and overly optimistic, I set off on my pokemon journey when I was eleven.

It was all a chasing after the wind.

* * *

I looked up. I have finally reached my destination: a white house on top of a small hill. 

Unconsciously, my hand reached into my pocket. My finger tips felt the cold wrapping around a small box. I put down my bags in search for my keys but the door swung opened before I found them. Grandpa stood in front in his usual white lab coat, expression unreadable.

He raised me since _that_ accident. Yet, try as I may, I failed to look into his eyes just as I did when I first entered the house on Christmas Eve eighteen years ago. I towered over a foot above him, but his presence remained daunting. For a full minute we stood in biting silence, his gaze never once wavered. Then, his grip tightened around the door knob, "I thought you said you would be here at four, Gary."

His voice rang as he took a step back. Taking that as an invitation I walked into the house. "I am sorry. Traffic was bad." He shook his head. His eyes followed me as I pulled off my scarf, hanged up my coat, and took off my shoes. An image of young school children eyeing jadedly at an unimpressive animal at a local zoo flashed passed my mind. I bit my lips.

_This_ is why I dreaded coming home.

He turned and disappeared into the kitchen. I proceeded to follow him but before I could set foot into the kitchen a pair of delicate arms enclosed me into a gentle hug from behind.

"May," I greeted, my eyes closed.

_This_ is why I kept coming home.

"Oh God Gary, you are back! I haven't seen you since forever," she muttered in my back, her plaintive arms tightened around my shoulders. "Will you stay this time?"

My lips tilted into a guilty smile. "Yeah. For a few days."

She seemed pleased with the answer. Breaking away she hastily turned me around to see my face. "I was so worried!" she exclaimed, "Grandpa said you would be here by four."

I turned away. "Sorry," my hand unthinkingly traveled over my pocket, "buying the present took longer than I thought."

I could feel, without actually see, her gentle gaze. "Don't worry," she answered my thoughts, her frown melted smoothly into a smile, "I am sure he will love it."

"I don't know…" I pulled out the silver box and held it out under the light, "I have a talent for screwing things up."

"Gary – "

"How is nursing school?"

"It's pretty fun," came her mechanical answer. She wanted to go back to the previous topic but restrained herself for me. Instead, she let her over-caring nurse personality take over. Before I could stop her she was fussing over my well being. "Did you hurt yourself during your journey?" I shook my head. She insisted on a quick assessment anyway, "Your face is fine, you are not limping so I assume you legs are okay…" She frowned when she got to my arms, "Where did you get this cut?"

I winced, recollecting the attack made by an overprotective Fearow that took me as a threat to her baby Spearows. I should not have taken the short cut. "I was running from an angry pokémon and tripped," I replied vaguely, May did not need to know about my stupidity.

"How many times did I tell you to take care of yourself better?" Her eye brows furrowed as she pulled me toward the first aid cabinet. "I can't stop worrying about you until you stop hurting yourself!" I snorted privately. Guilt-tripping seemed to be one of my sister's talents. No, it seemed to be my family's special talent.

* * *

I followed May into the dining room where dishes filled the long mahogany table. By their appearance I instantly knew that tonight's food was prepared by May. Only she would spend so much time decorating plates. 

"Hello, Gary, haven't seen you for a while," Mrs. Ketchum greeted in her natural cheery voice. She jumped out of her chair and pulled me into an unexpected tight hug. Mrs. Ketchum is an amazing lady, though at times she does seem a little odd.

"Hello, Mrs. Ketchum," I replied when I finally managed to escape from her arms. My usual sarcasm gave way to her good humour and I proceeded with a playful joke, "You are as beautiful as I remember."

She laughed as she sat back down on her chair, "No sweet talks from you dear, I know I am growing old. This morning I saw another white hair."

I chuckled and took a more careful look around the room. The table was full except for one seat, the one between my grandfather and Misty Waterflower of the Cerulean Gym. I understood why Ash and Mrs. Ketchum should be invited to my grandfather's birthday dinner, but Ash's friends? I gave May a questioning look. She simply smiled.

I dismissed their presence and sat down.

I could not complain. In contrast to Ash's other friends, Miss Waterflower has a friendlier demeanour. Brock, a tall dark man with eyes so small they are mere lines, spoke to me only in cold civility. He probably picked up that habit from traveling with Ash, whom still considered me a dangerous rival. I do not understand why. As far as I am concern, Ash won a long time ago.

When I sat out of place in the buzzing commotion during the dinner party after my first gym leader convention, desperately wishing I was anywhere but there, she talked to me. The conversation consisted only of polite inquiries of grandfather's health, she cared for me like one would for a stranger, but still the conversation was much appreciated.

Something about her fascinates me, something I cannot pin point.

Two springs ago I saw all four Waterflower sisters standing side by side in one of those shows Cerulean Gym is famous for putting on. Yet, despite the fact Miss Waterflower was not breath taking gorgeous like her famous sisters, she was the one I remember most explicitly. In my mind's eyes I can clearly see Miss Waterflower swimming gracefully as the princess of some underwater country, her long orange hair flowing behind her. Filtered by water the spot lights made her look mystical, almost divine.

I first met Miss Waterflower during my initial pokémon journey. She was traveling with Ash back then. I did not think much of her. She was my rival's companion, oceans away from me. Yet even then, something about her made me take a second look after another successful attempt at taunting the easily flustered Ash. I remember the brilliant smile on her face she used to calm Ash. It was a smile saved for friends; it was a smile saved for Ash; it was a smile that would never be mine.

I think beautiful things one can never possess transfix all human beings.

* * *

The dinner passed enjoyably, every thanks to May's splendid cooking. I offered to help May with the dishes, but Mrs. Ketchum insisted she would take my place. Defeated, I resigned and found myself sitting next to my grandfather in the sitting room with Ash and his friends. For a while they talked excitedly about Ash's newest journey while I listened with half interest - because his life does make a very colourful tale - and half dread - because the inevitable metal comparisons between my life and his would unavoidably induce envy. 

When they finally exhausted the topic, Miss Waterflower presented my grandfather his birthday gift, a home made tie-dyed lab coat. I grinned at the image of my grandfather researching in a the colourful coat. "I don't know what to give you," she said shyly, "I hope you like it."

From the sparkle in my grandfather's eyes I knew he did.

Following her example, Brock gave my grandfather a box full of his self formulated pokémon feed. "I saw how picky some pokémon here are, so I made some special food for every one of them."

His gift was very practical and much appreciated.

At last, Ash sheepishly dug in his pocket and pulled out a beautifully wrapped small box. "Here," he handed the box to grandpa with a toothy grin, "happy birthday, professor."

Everyone gasped when they saw the content. My grandfather failed to speak in full sentence in his awe, "Oh my… is this... this must have cost you a fortune." It was a master ball, an item with market price over fifty thousands. I fingered the box in my pocket.

Ash Ketchum outdid me again, the same way he always did in anything that matters.

* * *

Another half an hour passed, Ash and his friends went to the backyard to play with their pokémon. With their departure, the room lost momentum and fell into a pregnant silence. Eventually, I mustered enough courage to present my gift. "Grandpa –" 

"Gary…" grandpa cut in. He looked strangely anxious, so I let him continue. "I have something I need to tell you." His fidgeting fingers, his strained voice, his unsure eyes, all made me nervous. Grandpa never spoke to me this way. I let him speak.

"I…" he began slowly, uncertainly. Then, his eyes narrowed with determination. "IamgoingtotakeMrsKetchumasmywife."

He said the sentence so fast I could hardly make out the words. It took a while for my brain to sort out the contents, and it took even longer for my brain to fully process the words. "You what?"

"I am going to take Mrs. Ketchum as my wife," he repeated, this time at a slower rate.

I could not believe my ears. Mrs. Ketchum? When did this happen? Grandpa was always friendly around her but I have never suspected anything. Millions of thoughts flew though my mind, too fast for me to comprehend. In my confused state I somehow managed to utter, "When is this going to happen?"

"Tomorrow."

Tomorrow… tomorrow someone a year younger, my life long rival, a man whom achievements constantly reminds me of my failures, will be my uncle. Tomorrow that woman, whom I have always considered as a wonderful mother, a neighbour and nothing else, will be my grandmother. Suddenly the idea stuck me as sickly grotesque. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Shouldn't I have a say?

Grandpa looked away. "I would have… but there wasn't time."

"Oh but there was time to plan your wedding?" I snapped before I could check myself.

"I wanted to tell you in person," he defended lamely.

It was then when I noticed the audiences. Ash and Brock were peaking from behind the back door in curiosity. May and Mrs. Ketchum were peaking from behind the kitchen door in anxiety. Miss Waterflower was no where to be seen.

My stomach twisted when a sick realization dawned on me. Like a traveller finding himself in the middle of a wasteland at dawn, I comprehend the truth and I was horrified. Everything suddenly made sense – the reason why Ash's friends were invited, the reason behind May's smile, the reason for my grandfather insistence on my presence… everything suddenly fell in place. "Everyone knew about this except for me! You kept me in the dark!"

"I did not do that on purpose!"

"How about when I spent three days here last month -- no --This did not happen in a month --How about when I stayed here the week after May's birthday last May? You had plenty of time to drop me hints!"

"It wasn't the right time," frustration was rising in his voice along with its volume.

I knew I should stop. I knew words that exit my mouth at the moment would cause more harm than good but I was to deep in anger to care. Hotly, I raged on, "When is the right time? If I did not come today, were you planning to tell me after the wedding? Were you planning to tell me at all?"

"I am telling you now!"

"It's too late! This is already a decided matter -- It's useless!"

"Now be reasonable, Gary. Marriage is my personal matter!" grandpa retorted in a warning voice.

"You are right," I admitted coldly, my eyes narrowed, "It is none of my business who you are going to marry. But you should still give me time to voice my opinion."

"Say it then," grandpa challenged. His eyes daring me to cross the clear line lay in front of me.

Angry people are often unwise. My conscience told me to hold back; that Mrs. Ketchum was a nice lady; that it could be far worst. But I was angry and my temper took over. I took the challenge. "I think this marriage is totally wrong! I don't want a lucky snob as an uncle and I don't want a nosy ---"

The slap echoed.

I held my cheek with my hand, shocked. I looked into his eyes of anguish, disappointment, frustration. Grandpa never hits anyone. Ever.

I went overboard, but I was too proud to apologize and too angry to let go. I refused to show him I was sorry. It was not completely my fault, even if I did cross the line. Instead, I looked at him indignantly and placed his birthday present on the coffee table next to me.

"Happy birthday," I muttered darkly, bitterness rang clear in my voice before I raise.

"Gary!" May rushed to my side and frantically seized my arm. "You promised to stay a few days this time! You promised!"

"I lied." I dislodged her fingers from my arm, my eyes focused at some faraway nothingness.

I walked away, away from the wearily Mrs. Ketchum, away from my sobbing sister, and away from my glaring grandfather. I chased after the wind and I walked away.

* * *

Chapter One Ends

* * *

I wrote this many years ago. Then recently, I let Maia's Pen read a draft version of this, and she asked me to post this story. Thank you Maia's Pen! 

If you spot any mistakes or just want to tell me how you like this story, please review.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Pokemon and its respective characters do not belong to me.

* * *

**Chapter Two - Lady Fates and the Desperate Man**

* * *

Blain lives in a remote house on the Cinnabar Island. If you do not know where to look, finding his home may take you hours. But being one of the few people who have visited him many times before, it only takes me half an hour to get from the dock to his house. As you can probably guess from the previous statement, I am rather proud of that fact. 

The volcano has done much good to the island. Not only did it made Cinnabar one of the most famous tourist attraction, but it gives the island the riches soil in the Kanto region. The fertile soil gives birth to abundance of vegetation, with that, many exotic pokémon. Everywhere you look you see life and its miracles. The grass covered volcano, the fields of wild flowers, the birds filled blue sky, the calm ocean, everything is beautiful, and everything is one in serenity.

Here I met Blaine for the first time, truly met, not just as an obstacle I must defeat to move forward. The Viridian Gym was still under its former leadership then and I was still a relatively new researcher trying to make my own living by doing freelance research. I came to Cinnabar Island for some commissioned research on volcanic pokémon. Blaine was hiking with his fire pokémon on this grassy terrain. I recognized him as the riddle loving gym leader. He also recognized me, but surprisingly, not as the son of my father, Professor Oak's grandson, or Ash Ketchum's rival. Instead, he recognized me as the kid who had beaten him years ago.

His words triggered a sudden epiphany. The blinds lifted. I could finally see.

Human beings have a talent of adjusting, we can get used to anything given time, even things that we know are wrong. We desensitize ourselves; rationalize the flaws in our life as unavoidable. Each day we will our mind to see the problems less as eye throbbing blemishes but more like hopeless inevitabilities, until one day we simply cease to see the problems at all. We learn to make do with however little we have, we have to, that is the only way we can survive.

Being accustomed to having my identity linked to my father, to my grandfather, to Ash, blinded me from the absurdity, the ridiculousness of existing only in comparison to someone else. It was not until that moment, when someone finally acknowledge me as my own person did I realize something was amiss.

In the end, no one can yearn for something they have forgotten.

* * *

I am not superstitious. I do not believe in folk tales, that ladders and black cats can bring bad luck. I don't believe in the zodiac, the stars, or the palm readers. What I do believe in is the power of fate; the fact that life in so many ways is set in stone before I was born. Yet, do not be mistaken, I am no existentialist, I believe we still have power over our destinies. Only, unlike my grandfather, I also believe that our potential limits our future. The dealer, be it the Fates or God, dealt the cards, and the players, human beings, must make the best of the given hand. 

I have inherited this piece of philosophy from my parents. I can only vaguely remember what they look like or their voice but I know, mostly from people who knew them longer, all about their accomplishments. My mother was a world famous musician especially skilled in piano and violin, a devoted Christian, people told me. My father, following my great grandfather's footsteps, was once a successful politician in the Kanto region. He had been, more than once, quoted for attributing his success to "chanced circumstances."

When I was young, it baffled me how people can live for so many years without acknowledging fate. I used to wonder how a wise man like my grandfather can miss something so blatantly obvious. But since then I have realized the most blessed are often also to most faithless. When hard work leads invariably to positive results who would believe in anything but their own abilities? Consecutive triumphs do not make men humble.

For example: Ash Ketchum. For him, efforts always pay off.

Sometimes, I am jealous of his successes: his ability to remain the pokémon master for the last ten years, his innate talent to bond with others, his natural charisma that wins people and pokémon over. I envy the respect others hold for him, his good reputation, and most of all I envy the praises showered on him daily from everyone, especially from grandfather. Ash effortlessly takes all the right steps, makes all the right moves, and says all the right words -- I resent him.

And in turn, I resent myself.

After all, a person would only loath a man for his good fortunes because – and only because – of desperation.

* * *

I signed. Combing my hair with my fingers I halfheartedly recited my well rehearsed verse. "I, Gary Oak, the gym leader of the Viridian City Gym, accept your challenge." 

Seven years ago, I took over the Viridian Gym. The former leader mysteriously disappeared there years before, and the league was having trouble finding a suitable replacement. Three main reasons contributed to their difficulties: firstly, there were many negative rumors surrounding the gym because of the former leader; secondly, new league policies made job qualification extremely hard to meet; thirdly, gym leading is a rather tedious occupation. I was the thirtieth person to be offered the job, by then the need to end the search could be summarize by "desperation."

"This will be a one on one battle. As such, you are free to choose any one of the pokémon in your team of six."

I was desperate for money. Freelance researching did not pay well enough to cover the scarcity of assignments. Meanwhile, my pride did not let me break my vow to live on my own income after a certain episode with my grandfather. In truth, I would have taken any job happily, let alone a fairly well paid job like gym leading. Yet, try as I may, I could not pass up the chance to exploit the league's desperation. In the end, I acted unwilling and named conditions that, in mild terms – were rather ambitious – and in more accurate terms – were ridiculously advantageous.

"Your award, should you win, is the Earthbadge. There's no time limit. Do you accept these terms?"

I hardly expected the league to agree without some compromises. But apparently, I underestimated on the league's desperation. With the simple promises of secrecy concerning the additional conditions and remaining the gym leader for a minimum of ten years, the league signed my contract with all my demands.

My contract bestowed me flexibility unheard of in gym leading history, including the freedom to not specialize in any types of pokémon. Best of all, I can earn full time wages for working part time while enjoying the usual housing benefits and annual wage increase.

"I accept."

I typically stay and stay away from the Viridian Gym in three months rotations. During my away months, I am excused from all gym responsibilities. This month happened to be one of these months.

"Let us proceed."

So how exactly did I manage to land myself in a league battle? Right. Because kids these days do not understand the concept of holiday; because he would not leave me alone until I humor him with a battle; because I cannot tolerate being stalked by a kid with an ego big enough to satisfy a full grown lion.

I unclipped one of my pokeball from my belt but before I could do more, the boy twisted his base ball cap and called out his pokémon – a Tentacrule. By appearance, I judged the squid to be about level twenty-eight.

In a pokémon battle, drawing first handicaps a trainer since the opponent can then choose their pokémon according to type benefits. With this in mind, the league wrote gym leader guideline #254 that states: gym leader should let the challenger the advantage of being second to pick their pokémon. This boy is either overly confident or overtly stupid.

On second though, had the boy took time to read the trainer guidebook, he would know all my pokémon are above level fifty. This being said, the boy must be just plain stupid.

"Time for a stretch, Umbreon."

The said black monster stood majestically beside me when the routine flash subsided. He nodded at me once in acknowledgement before turning away to survey his surroundings. When he spotted his opponent he turned to me. _He is weak_, he commented telepathically, his tone grim, _I will hurt him even if I control my power._

My morality shamefully pales against my Umbreon, the most sensitive and intelligent of all my pokémon. I eyed him thoughtfully for a moment. _I know_, I replied silently, understanding he could read my thoughts, _but his trainer would not shut up until I give him a battle._

_And you with your benevolent, kindly natures decided to generously bestow him his wish?_ He inquired derisively.

_I try my best_. A lop-sided smile plastered on my face. _If it is any consolation, know that monster is at least half as inappropriately proud as his trainer._

_I take special comfort in knowing the foolishness of my fellow kind,_ he drawled as he turned, his jaw turned up into what I knew must be a smirk.

I have made it a custom of mine to add a bit of acting whenever I encounter a particularly weak challenger. Common courtesy really, many gym leaders provide this extra service partly because that makes an otherwise overpowered battle slightly more interesting and the lost slightly less humiliating for the loser.

I contemplated on whether I should exert such effort. Because this time, animosity replaces the impartiality that I usually feel toward most trainers. In honest truth, I cannot stand him ever since he first demanded a battle with me. Something in his countenance, something in the way he spoke, the way he threw his pokeball irritated me. Something about him was so unmistakably… Ash.

Suspicion triggered, I could not help but ask, "Before we begin, tell me, why are you on this journey?"

He blinked and for some time said nothing, no doubt my question surprised him. "Because I want to be a Pokémon Master like…" cheeks coloured he whispered the sacred name, "Ash Ketchum."

That explained the likeness and my irritation.

I decided to end the battle as quickly as I could. "Umbreon, use faint attack." A perfunctory command, Umbreon expertly did as I asked. The Tentacrule fainted after two continuous attacks.

The battle ended. I turned around and walked away. A side glace told me the boy collapsed in a self-pitying heap, crying, quite unbecoming for a boy. I would not falter in my steps. The boy would get over this defeat soon enough. I would not pity. No one wishes for pity. I would not feel sorry. On a balance, our faults weigh equal. Perchance I should have chosen a battling style less brutal, perhaps, but then he should not have challenged me in the first place. I should not feel guilty – no more than he should feel surprise bout his lost. Did not he put himself in this predicament? He deserved no sympathy. No, none at all.

Behind me, Umbreon followed, but his steps became hesitant and eventually came to a stop. _Gary._

_He needs to learn, Umbreon,_ I thought looking straight ahead, never more sure of myself than at that moment, _kindness does not teach a person humility._

_But at the expense of a life?_ Umbreon ghostly voice echoed wisdom in my head.

In my stubbornness I tried to resist. _No one will die._

_Think again. _

Perplexed, my pride gave way to curiosity. I looked back.

In the same position, the boy cried, dejected, disappointed, and undignified. At the same spot, the Tentacruel lay, unconscious on the ground, completely forgotten, and bleeding profoundly.

The Tentacruel was about to bleed to death because of his trainer's incompetence.

My legs lead me to the fallen pokémon without my consent. My hands searched through my backpack for a revive potion I picked up in the mainland before a any coherent object could form. Finding the small flask, I roughly forced the dark liquid down the squid's throat. For a moment, the boy looked at me stupidly, then he got his priorities straight and snapped out of self-pity. Half-crawled and half-hobbled, he moved to his still gravely injured Tentacruel's side to administer a hyper potion.

"A typical Tentacruel has four litres of blood in its body," I informed the boy, my voice as frank and dry as one of my science texts at home.

He refused to look at me, abashed, undoubtedly understood the full implications of my words. Instead, he patted his pokémon, "Thank you," he muttered, to the Tentacruel or to me I could not say.

* * *

If there is one thing I love about Cinnabar Island it is the pubs. They sell the biggest variety of alcoholic drinks in Kanto. Bourbon, rum, scotch, vodka, cordials, gin, tequila, cocktail, sake, brandy, Chinese rice wine, assorted grape wine… you name it, they sell it. At the moment I am drinking Cinnabar Blaster, a unique house blend sold only in the local bars. Issue 340 of Kanto Life did not name Cinnabar Blaster as the best excuse to get wasted for no reasons. 

"You keep at it and one day your liver will fail," Blaine warned as he looked on wearily.

I raised a wry eyebrow. "And that would matter because…?" I inquired as I gazed at the clear liquid in my glass. "That would be one step, however small, toward solving world's overpopulation." I took a gulp in demonstration. The liquor burned satisfyingly down my throat.

"Gary –"

"I know. Life is precious and I should not be wasting my life away like this. That – was – a – joke," I quickly explained before Blaine could give me one of his droning fatherly speeches. A lecture was the last thing I needed at the moment. "This is Cinnabar Island, for heaven's sake! You can't possibly expect me to not drink here!"

Blaine gave a disapproving frown. "I am not saying you can't drink," he motioned at the empty glasses beside me, "I am saying you need to know when to stop."

My glowered testily. "I know my limit, Blaine."

He gave me a long look but refrained from making further comments on my alcohol consumption. For some time we drank in silence, or more accurately, I drank and he watched in silence. Eventually, Blaine spoke again, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I am fine."

"You are not." Blaine snorted, "Last time I saw you drink so much was when that researcher chick… Dorcas? Or was it Dora…dumped you."

I flinched, recovered, and glowered. "Her name was Donna," I snarled, unsuccessful in hiding my bitterness. Ah, sweet deceitful Donna with all her fake but pretty smiles: an unfaithful bitch. "And for the last time, Blaine, it was a mutual break up." But that did not make the breakup any less agonizing.

"Mutual my ass Gary," Blaine replied with a knowing smirk, "You caught her with that lab assistant."

"I was on my way to breaking up with her when I found her…" I faltered in my defense, trying in vain to keep myself from recalling too much about the scene. In an effort to wash away unpleasant images, I drained the rest of my Cinnabar Blaster in one swig and slammed the empty mug loudly onto the counter. At the corner of my eyes I saw Blaine smirk in triumph. Of all the ways he could have made his point, he just had to bring her up. This must be his revenge for my earlier snub.

I willed myself to forget.

A sense of detachment came over me as the memories faded back into my subconscious. My anger eased. My bitterness subsided. I calmed down. With my newly cleared mind I added as a logical afterthought, half to convince Blaine, half to convince myself, "It was all for the better, I might have felt guilty otherwise."

"I have never liked her," Blaine mused, "I told you."

I chuckled darkly. "You have never liked any of my girlfriends." That was no exaggeration. He really hated every girl I dated, "Whenever I ask you why you justify with your 'sixth-sense.'"

"And my intuitions are always right."

Of course they were. He was always right and I was always wrong… But so what? I never liked riddles. "Drop your charades, Blaine." I waved for another drink.

"I heard about your grandfather."

"Oh?" I coolly inquired, as nonchalant as I could afford when genuinely surprised. My mind instantly recalled the marriage and sparked momentary panic. Then, I remembered Blaine had no means of knowing about the wedding.

"You know exactly what I am talking about."

Right?

Inwardly, I cringed at the possibility. Outwardly, I shrugged and managed to keep an unreadable face. "No, please enlighten me."

Blaine took in a deep breath, a habitual act of irritation or frustration. "Your grandfather," he drawled eventually, an arguably evil glint in his eyes, "remarried."

I almost spitted out my mouthful of Cinnabar Blaster, and when I tried to swallow, after much effort, I chocked. Why – or more importantly – how did he know? My features darkened against my wishes, "Who told you?"

"I have my source."

Who? Blaine never saw my grandfather or Ms. Ketchum in person, so I could starch them out of the suspect list. May saw him once when she came to visit me at a gym leader conference a years ago, they shook hands and agreed I have antisocial tendencies – the nerve – but really they are acquaintances at best. I supposed Brock could theoretically tell Blaine, but they did not talk even when they sat next to each other last league dinner. That leaves… My brows knitted tightly together into a deep frown. "Don't tell me Ash Ketchum told you?"

"Of course not," he proclaimed self righteously and clucked his accusing tongue, "Why would Ash talk to me about something so personal?"

"Who then? Other than his two friends, and my sister, no one other than me should know…" I put my face into my hand, feeling so full I could not distinguish exactly what I was feeling. Anger? Frustration? Desperation? Hopelessness? Betrayal? Bitterness? All at once? "Heck! I didn't even know about that until the day before they got married!" I looked up just quick enough to catch a fleeting expression on his face. "You already know that, don't you?" Blaine nodded sheepishly. I groaned. "What else did your informer said to you?"

"No much," he dismissed in a tone that hinted the opposite. "Just that you made a scene and left before the wedding."

"Could you expect me to rejoice in their absurd marriage?"

"Absurd because of the pairing, your inability to catch on to the changes in your own family, or simply because of Ash?"

Provocative words, challenging words. At an insomnia-plagued night a few months later I would discover the origin of the catharsis that followed. I would realize my anger dated much earlier than my grandfather's wedding, that my grandfather and even Ash simply added pressure to bottle enclosed long ago. In retrospect, everything became as translucent as distilled water. But all that would be in the future, much later.

The gut reaction to those words was much more passionate and much less rational.

"Everything!" I snapped, "My grandfather is going seventy! Whether you look at their age differences or just his age, the pairing is still preposterous! And I am not even considering how suspiciously advantageous this marriage is for Ms. Ketchum. But really, that is not a problem. I don't belief in social class. You know I don't. But I am angry at them for not telling me earlier. It is totally illogical that I should hear about my grandfather's, my only blood-related elder in the world, wedding after Ash's friends! God damn it! Aren't I a part of his family? I exist! Even if he likes Ash better than me! Even if he wishes Ash is his grandson instead of me!"

"Gary calm –"

"I hate Ash!" I could not stop. Alcohol made words come so easily and made me care too little to stop, "I hate the sound of his name! I hate his little smile! I hate how he wins people over! I hate how he gets my grandfather's attention! I hate him! And now by law he is my uncle! My uncle! A person a year younger than me is my uncle! How ludicrous is that?" I chuckled and could not stop until I finished another shot of hard liquor.

The, as suddenly as it came, my energy left. My eyes unfocused from Blaine and focused somewhere beyond him, my eyebrows relaxed, my speech slowed, my voice lowered, "I am a shadow, Blaine, don't you see? A shadow of the Pokémon Master Ash Ketchum, the popular winner; a shadow of the world renounced Professor Oak, the famous researcher; a shadow of my father, the brilliant politician…"

A weighty pause, followed by a miserable but solemn afterthought, "I should have never been born."

"Listen, Gary---" He tried lamely, but I cut him off.

"If Lady Fates exist, they would probably tell you that Gary Oak is destined to be second in anything that matters. It is okay, Blaine, I have came to accept that," the side of my lips curled into an ironic smile. "I suppose they would also tell you that Gary Oak will die alone, friendless, and miserable inthe back alley of some wretched city…."

"You are drunk, Gary."

"Oh yes, fucking drunk with life."

"Gary--"

"Leave me alone, Blaine. Just let me drown in my own misery…" I slurred. The Cinnabar Blaster finally began to take effect but not quick enough.

I called for another round.

* * *

Time eluded me. Reality eluded me as well. When you are drunk nothing seems solid enough to be real. The rest of the night passed by in broken images, a slideshow coupled with fragmented noises, disconnected, senseless. 

A flash of Blaine's worried face. "… called expectation, if he does not care for you your grandfather…" An image of disarrayed empty glasses of different shapes and sizes. "… sister cried for two hours straight, she was very sad…" The pub was empty. "… you have always liked that woman. Why are you so against your grandfather…" The pub was full. "… listening, Gary, stop drinking…" To my left a few working men, construction workers, drank. "… heard Steve was layoff…" A hefty sigh. "I have a guest at my house…" Behind me, a slutty woman laughed. "… a joker you are, Tony…" The sound of a passionate kiss. "… some trouble with her sister or something…" To my left a group of friends talked. "…to marry, best of luck with you and Lizzy…" A phone rang. "…she is coming…" Next to Blaine, a gruff man tried to pick up a girl. "… what's a pretty thing like you…"

Enough was enough. In a moment of clarity I stood up and waved for the bill.

"Hey where are you going?"

I said nothing, scared of what may come out of my mouth if I speak. I looked down at my bill. With some effort I forced my impaired eyes to read: $149.99. I sluggishly slapped two one hundred dollar bills on the counter. "Paid for you," I directed a tired glance at Blaine.

"Gary wait!"

I ignored him and stubbornly wobbled toward the exit. The world spun around me. I vaguely registered the ringing of the door chime. The front door swung open.

"Blaine, there you are!"

And not so vaguely I crashed into her.

* * *

I took two sluggish steps back and looked up. My drunken mind instantly mesmerized by the ever changing emotion on her face as she pushed herself up off the floor: anger, then surprise, then resentment, then finally – disgust. Of all the people I could crash in to it has to be her. 

My brain, despite intoxication, made connections. She was the source Blaine talked about. I realized. Who else could rat out the news if it not Ash? Blaine had always liked her. He likes telling riddles and she likes solving them. I wondered what else she said to Blaine. 'Made a scene' was such a censored answer.

I felt like barfing. The thought of running to the washroom momentarily crossed my mind. But I ignored it. Who cares anyway? Who cares if piss drunk me barf right in front of her? Wouldn't that give her a better reason to be disgusted?

I threw up right in front of Misty Waterflower.

Something about the situation seemed morbidly funny, sadistically hilarious. I laughed but my laughter came out as a terrible croak. I pushed unsteadily passed her, shell shocked may I add, in spite of my dimming vision and the still swirling surrounding. I almost made it to the door before I tripped. The door bell chimed from the vibration of my ungraceful fall.

I could hazily hear Blaine called my name and swore.

Then everything went blissfully black.

* * *

Chapter Two Ends

* * *

Took me a while to update because I wanted to make Gary a more realistic person than I had him down originally. Hopefully it will take me less time to get the next chapter out. 

Reviews are always welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Pokemon and its respective characters do not belong to me.

Editted Version.

* * *

**Chapter Three - An Eye for an Eye, A Book for a Shirt**

* * *

I woke to the sound of muffled voices. 

Slowly, deliberately, the fine veil of sleep lifted. In vain, I clung desperately on the fleeting threads of dream. Yet, unconsciousness, like water, quickly slid out of my reach and reality coagulated around me. I opened my eyes only to meet blinding sunlight. How unusual, I thought, as I lifted a hand to cover my eyes. I, a perpetual insomniac, seldom wake up later than seven-thirty. By the intensity of the sun, it must be at least nine.

Through a crack between two fingers I glanced at my bedside clock. I found none. The absence propelled my heavy mind into complete panic. My eyes shot opened but I calmed when a frantic survey informed me that in fact Iwas not in my room at all. As the series of sleep-laced thoughts gave way to clearer, morecoherent stream of consciousness, I recognized the room as one of Blaine's guestrooms, to be precise, the room across the living room. Memories of the night before hit me in full: I was depressed, I drank more than I ought, I got more depressed, I completely drank myself silly, and then… I sprang up but a massive headache forced me back into the bed.

I groaned.

At that particular moment, the muffled voices caught my attention again. Too soft to comprehend, too loud to ignore, really, the worst sort of muffled voices. The noise must be from the living room, which is next to the dining room, which is next to the kitchen…

The _kitchen_… for a moment my mind dwelled fondly on the Tylenol in the kitchen cupboard. The thought of such an incentive gave me the boost of energy I needed to overcome my headache and get out of bed. My legs wobbled under me – _think Tylenol_ - My head ache multiplied in strength each step I took – _think Tylenol_ - My hand felt heavy as I lifted it to the door knob – _You need the Tylenol_ – Oh the world is spinning – _Tylenol_.

Such was my pattern of thoughts as I made my way to the kitchen with Tylenol as the carrot at the end of the stick. The thirty feet of mahogany flooring separating my room from the kitchen felt like the longest thirty feet in the world. When I reached my destination, I could not help but feel most accomplished.

I navigated expertly around Blaine's kitchen, gathering a cup from a cupboard, hot water from the electronic kettle and of course, my due reward: the pack of Tylenol from the medicine box. Two pills and a nice long drink of hot water later, my god-awful headache felt somewhat better, completely psychological I am sure, but nevertheless better. I settled myself on a stool at the kitchen counter and ate plain white bread, the only food lying at hand length from where I sat, not exactly my choice of breakfast but definitely filling enough.

Half way through the piece of bread, my brain began registering a conversation, also known as _the_ muffled voices I heard earlier, that the miserable head-ache had successfully shut out for five whole minutes.

"—am flattered you phoned me for an interview. I was quite surprised really," a voice, most probably Miss Waterflower's said.

"Should you be, Ms. Waterflower? You are the most esteemed water pokémon gym leader in the world," came the shameless flattery from an alien feminine voice, disturbingly high pitched, "Of course you must be part of my research."

I glanced with disdain at the closed door behind the doorway I came in from earlier, I wondered about the identity of the stranger. A journalist from a local newspaper or a magazine perhaps? An overly enthusiastic water pokémon trainer? An aspiring to-be gym leader? An obsessive fan? I took another dry bite at my bread and listened on.

"What degree are you studying for again, Cassy?"

"Master in marine biology."

Ah, so a student researching for her thesis then. I nodded thoughtfully, recalling the interviews I have conducted for my own thesis during my days in university. I have fond memories of university, a playground for educated hypothesis and free thoughts. A place where at least some people would recognize me for my own work and not what my grandfather did. A pity I had to do most of my degree through correspondence because of my gym responsibilities and freelance researching.

"I suppose I should start with a general question. What is your favorite water pokémon and why?"

"I love all water pokémon, of course, but I have a certain weakness for Tentacruels. Not only are they strong, but the jewels on their heads are just very pretty."

I almost gagged out loud. Tentacruel of all things? _Pretty_? I stuck my tongue out at the thought. I have always considered beautiful Tentacruel as an oxymoron. I can understand why so many girls squeal at the sight of an Azumarill, Marill, or Azurill. I can even understand why May loves the juvenile forms of water pokémon like Horsea, Mudkip and Wooper. Those creatures are bubbly and cute. They are huggable. But _Tentacruel_? Nor can I say Tentacruels are all that strong. They are not especially weak, of course, being a mature form of a duo typed pokemon, but I would rather have a Gyarado or Dewgong on my team any day and I am not even trying to name the strongest water pokémon here.

Cassy laughed, alas a slightly nervous laugh. Even she did not know what to make of the answer. "I suppose Tentacruels _do_ have their own kind of beauty…" she said slowly and quickly steered the conversation away from the said monster, "From your vast experience with water pokémon, which is the most memorable, extraordinary, unique, so to speak?"

"All 380 odd pokémons," _386_ to be exact – I noted in my mind. "…are unique in their own ways. The 63 water pokémon," _64_ – I corrected silently. "...in the world are no different. Even pokémon of the same species are never the same. But I think by far the most memorable water pokémon I have encountered is Suicune." Ah… Suicune, I have seen a Suicune once, a rather magnificent, beautiful creature…

The phone rang. Once, twice, three times. No one picked up. Blaine must be out. At the forth ring I grudgingly gave in and picked up the phone. "Hello, Blaine's residence speaking."

" Gary!" the voice at the other end sounded like he just met God. To my horror, I recognized the voice as that of my lab supervisor, Steven.

"Steven!" I mimicked his excitement, less than please. Honestly! One cannot have time off even during vacation these days.

A strained laugher. I blenched, Steven, usually a calm and stoic man, would never laugh so nervously unless something went dreadfully wrong to the atomic level. I prayed to God I was wrong. "Timothy," he laughed that nervous laugh again, "you know, that new assistant I hired—"

"The one I hired only because he was your nephew?" I interrupted pointedly.

"Er… Yeah him... He just blew up something big."

I bit my lips. "How big?"

"A back up water-pump."

"WHAT?" I practically screamed. Hearing fearful whimper at the other end, I froze and closed my eyes. _Calm down, Gary, nothing can be solved if you scream at the panicking Steven_. _Don't shoot the messenger_. _Breath in in in out_. _Breath in in in out_…

A minute of silence later, I finally spoke with a respectable amount of composure. "Which one, Steven, and can it be fixed?"

"The one responsible for the north end and no, it is a total lost." Steven squeaked out.

"Alright," I said slowly, trying to remember what the insurance on my lab covered. "Steven how did this happen?"

"Timothy smoked in the non-smoking area and –" he broke off, anxiety laced his voice, "Oh I am sorry Mr. Oak, please don't fire me, you know I need this job a lot, and you have absolutely no idea how much it means to me and my family and—" He was completely babbling.

"Steven, calm down. You are not going to be fired, but Timothy has to go." That affectively quieted him down and gave me the silence I needed to think. If I remember correctly, my insurance only covers flood, mechanical failures, and pokemon related accidents, meaning this man-made accident would most likely not be covered. I rubbed my temple gingerly. The circumstance was definitely against me. A new water pump of that size would cost about a hundred fifty thousand. My emergency funding can offset half of that. This leaves about eighty thousand unaccounted for.

My mind churned for possible solutions but found none completely to my liking. Finally I gave up and sighed. "Set up a meeting with the Dean of Science at Burkely for me, Steven."

"But that would mean--"

I cut him off irritably, "I know what that means, Steven, but desperate time calls for desperate measures. Even if we empty our emergency account, we still won't have enough to cover the pump. We would have to prospone phase four of the research by at least a year if we are to earn the funding ourselves. I rather publish my research through Burkely than delay any of part of the research plans for that long." I paused to let my words sink in.

Steven took a deep breath. "I am sorry," he repeated in a low voice.

I ran my fingers through my hair. "It's not your fault," I pointed out, knowing blmaing him would not help the situation. "Besides, it's not that bad," I added, more to convince myself than the lab supervisor, "Burkely is a respectable univeristy and I have heard they have one of the least intrusive policy regarding external researches."

I repeated a list of procedures to take seven times before I hung up. The phone call left me in a rotten mood and even more horrible headache, in an effort to clear my mind I decided to head to my room and ready myself for a walk. My mind, as full and heavy as lead, only led me out of the kitchen before betraying me completely. In a moment of thoughtlessness, I confused the door to the living room with the door to the guest room: a fatal mistake.

The door edged opens soundlessly, a perfect imitation of a swinging door at the climax of a movie. The two occupants of the room instantly froze. For a moment they stared at me and I at them.

Then, the embarrassment sank in, my face flushed red and I looked away. "Good morning," I croaked, unable to think of anything else to break the tension.

Miss Waterflower maintained her unreadable stare and said nothing. The stranger Cassy, a brunette in somewhat immodest clothing, corrected with an impish grin, "Good afternoon, mister, it is past twelve."

I glanced at the wall clock above the fifty two inch television and found, my eyes wide in disbelieve, that it was almost one. That would mean I woke up at almost twelve, and _that_ would mean I slept almost thirteen hours as oppose to my usual five. I must have really over drunk myself. "Forgive me. I am still half asleep."

"And three quarter drunk," Misty spoke finally, her words savored strongly of bitterness.

"I am really sorry about last night," I apologized genuinely, recalling the less than pleasant circumstances in which we met yesterday night as I added, "Tell me how much your shirt cost. I will pay for it."

Misty snorted, "You can't buy everything, Gary Oak, that was a very special shirt and no amount of your dirty money can replace it."

I flinched at the accusation. I did not expect her to bring up such an uneasy topic in front of a guest. "Miss Waterflower, let's discuss this later," I eyed Cassy the student to ensure she understood my concern, "I don't want to keep this Miss waiting."

"Do you mind, Cassy?" The edge in Misty's voice left the woman no choice but to shake her head.

My eyes narrowed. She had every right to be angry, but that did not give her the right to humiliate me in front of a stranger. "I am _very_ sorry about what happened last night, Miss Waterflower, but I couldn't stop the force of nature when I am drunk."

"You call throwing up all over me natural?"

I rolled my eyes in exasperation. "You know that was not what I meant and I said sorry!"

"Sorry just doesn't cut it." She glared.

I glared back. She was not the one who had to worry about gathering over a hundred thousand to replace water pump that an idiot blew up admist a throbbing headache. I felt my temper rising dangerously, but not wanting to say anything I may seriously regret later, I decided to ignore her and march out of the room.

Unfortunately, I got no farther than a step out of the living room before Misty caught up and blocked my way. "What do you want, Waterflower?"

"Oh? No more 'Miss Waterflower' and fake civility?"

"Believe me, civility is far too much of a hassle to fake for anyone let alone for the undeserving." I sneered privately at the sight of her flaming eyes.

"You are a complete stupid jerk, Gary Oak!"

"I am _far_ from stupid--"

"Gary Oak?" the ecstatic question surprised both of us. We jumped, having completely forgotten our audience. "You are Doctor Gary Oak!"

Shocked at the sudden address, alas formal address, my mouth remained opened agape while Misty Waterflower looked at me like I grew a second head before suddenly bursting out in laughter. "You must be mistaken, Gary Oak is no doctor."

"Yes I am," I corrected coolly, secretly offended and hurt, "I have a doctoral degree in pokémon genetics." Knowledge has always been one of my prides. Her comment was a direct attack on my self-esteem and any sort of attack on my ego, even those unintentional, could not be forgiven without retaliation. "This reminds me," I spoke, my mouth curling into a smirk, "just so you know, there are 64 water pokémon discovered so far, not 63 as _you_ said, Great Water Pokémon _Expert_ Misty Waterflower."

"_You!_" Misty Waterflower's face made me think of ripe tomatoes and autumn fire. She was angry. No, she was furious. I felt strangely accomplished.

"The truth hurts, doesn't it? Everyone calls you the Great Water Pokémon Expert and yet 'stupid jerk' me actually has to correct you on the number of water pokémon discovered in the world. Disappointing, don't you think?" Those were not the kindest of words, but one with injured pride cared little for the feelings of the injurer. My thoughts traveled in a rather straight forward and immature line: she humiliated me and I want to humiliate her back – an eye for an eye, a foot for a foot.

"_You are such a—_"

I pointedly ignored Misty Waterflower and turned to Cassy with a wide smile and an extended hand. "Hello, nice to meet you, I am Gary Oak."

"I am Cassy White," she introduced herself enthusiastically, her old interest in Misty Waterflower cruelly forgotten, "My professor, Doctor Andrea Lawlor, calls you one of the most talented researchers in the world! I am so honored to see you in person."

The name of one of my all time favorite mentors, Doctor Lawlor, lifted my mood. "Doctor Lawlor tends to grossly exaggerate praises. She still specializes in marine life form genetics I heard?"

"Yeah she still does. But I don't think she exaggerated anything. She showed us your thesis on Kyogre the first week of class and it was absolutely brilliant."

I grinned at her compliments. They sounded especially nice after everything Misty Waterflower said. "Kyogre, the _64th_ water pokémon," I added with a glance at the Cerulean gym leader, who, if possible, looked more infuriated than even before, "is indeed one of nature's great wonders."

"It is indeed," chipped Cassy, completely oblivious to, or at least chose to completely ignore, the stifling tension in the air. Entirely unaware of anything outside of direct interest is a common trait among scientists after all, I suppose, afore all other roles Cassy is a scholar in biology.

From the far corner of my eyes I saw Misty Waterflower stomped away after giving me one last lethal glare. I did not turn to watch her leave. Next to me, I vaguely registered Cassy speaking. "You are much younger than I ever imagined…" she blundered before her voice faded into the background. My senses were so well tuned to Misty Waterflower's every movement that I felt and heard, even though I could not see, her walked out of the room, down the hall way, through the reception room and out the door with an angry slam.

So much for our first real conversation, I lamented as I turned my attention back to Cassy, suddenly regretting everything I have said. I could only imagine her opinion of me after this episode.

My heart quivered.

How odd, I thought, that a man could fear losing what he could not even identify.

* * *

When Cassy left at around two thirty, Blaine has yet return home and the magnitude of my still throbbing headache overrode my lurking hunger. After taking yet another Tylenol, I headed to Blaine's study with a cup of hot Earl Gray. The study has always been my favorite room in Blaine's house for its excellent view and the library, _my_ library, all the old books I inherited from my parents and the new books I added on my own. When I first moved out of my grandfather's house I spent almost ten percent of my wages on storage space for my books, a rather heavy financial burden, and the dire price for being stubborn. Some may think my break from my grandfather illogical, of course it was, but like I mentioned before angry people don't make the wisest decisions and once I moved out my pride kept me from moving back in. 

Blaine has never been much of a reader but he has a spacious house and upon mentioning my hefty storage fees one day, he generously offered free space for my books. I gradually transferred most of the books away when I acquired the gym and later on an apartment, but still a fair number of them remained on the forged vintage bookshelves in his study for my own enjoyment when I visit. Blaine did not mind at all, he never read any of them but he considers those books home decor, after all, bookshelves full of well preserved hard cover books look rather impressive in any studies.

I pulled out a small notebook containing a directory of the books on the shelves from the bottom draw of the desk. I ran my finger down the list until I reached a title without a check mark: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekkyll and Mr. Hyde. I took my pen out of my shirt pocket and marked the title with a new check before putting the notebook away again. Then, standing up, I walked up to the bookshelves and found the said book, one of my parents', under the "S" section. A few years ago I have anally reorganized my books by alphabetical order.

So, at three o'clock sharp I settled down in the comfortable leather sofa facing the bookshelves and began to reread the book. "Mr. Utterson, the lawyer, was a man of a rugged countenance, that was never lighted by a smile; cold, scanty and embarrassed in discourse…"

* * *

I was just about to read the last chapter of the book when Blaine called me down to dinner at six-thirty. The first clause of our mutually beneficial deal: he cooks and I wash dishes when ever I visit him or he visits me. Living alone for the last five years have taught me to cook decently but knowing how to cook does not equate to wanting to cook. In truth, I am usually too lazy to cook any more than one meal a day – a rather unhealthy habit but one that I cannot break despite Blaine's constant nagging. 

I marked my page with a bookmark and I walked down stairs with the book in hand in case Blaine called me down early as he does whenever he wants company. In such a case I would be sitting across the counter from him in silence because Blaine never talks when he cooks. Or so I thought.

I first heard their laughter when I reached the bottom of the stairs. I have never heard Blaine laughed quite like that. With me, he often gives throaty, deep laughs, genuine but somewhat restrained, always held back. But there and then his laughter contained an unreserved lightness that I never knew he processed. I sometimes wonder how many single serving friends thirty years of gym leading on a remote tourist island brought to Blaine. I often thought how lonely it must be for Blaine to be one of the few constants in the midst of an ever flowing river of people. How comforting it was to know he has a friend that can make him laugh like that! Unwilling to break the moment, I stood next to the door out of sight, simply listening and being glad.

When their bantering finally died down, I let myself into the kitchen. "Dinner smells good," I complemented, letting my presence be known.

Blaine, still chuckling from the last joke turned and in a mismatching I-told-you-so tone he lectured, "Enjoying your hangover?" He placed a meaningful glance at the bottle of Tylenol I left on the counter, "Didn't you say you know your limits?"

"Shut up, Blaine," I tried my best to ignore the unnatural stiffness of Miss Waterflower's back up on my entrance. "Of course I revel in hangovers."

The exchange died with Blaine's throaty chuckle. I at once began to regret walking into the room, but knowing nothing could change past deeds, I sat down on one of the kitchen stools behind the counter and reopened my book. I intended to finish reading the novel but I could barely take in a word before my eyes found their way to Miss Waterflower and Blaine, the former tossing a salad and the latter stirring a pot of soup. Eventually I gave up, closed the book, and attempted to start a conversation, "What's for dinner?" I mentally slapped myself for the lame question.

Miss Waterflower continued with her silent treatment but Blaine responded quite willingly, "Clam chowder for soup, lamb rib with garlic bread and greens for our main course, and chocolate mousse cake for dessert," here my stomach gave an appropriate grumble. Blaine gave a knowing smile, "You didn't eat lunch, did you?"

"It was too much of a headache," I returned, pun intended.

"Or you are too lazy," he accused rather bluntly. I shrugged, sheepish smile glazed over my face. "Did you even eat breakfast?"

"I had a piece of white bread at twelve something."

Blaine slapped his forehead with his hand. "Good lord, you really don't take care of yourself well enough. Good thing I cooked a big meal today."

Miss Waterflower snorted, turned to Blaine with a look of utter horror, and finally joined the chitchat. "You _just_ realized, Blaine? Anyone who would drink himself as drunk as he did does not care for health."

Blaine laughed in good humor before the atmosphere could grow heavy, "You really did see the kid at his worst didn't you?" He lifted the pot off the stove and turned off the gas. Then, he walked toward me with his hands on his waist in a most mediator-like manner, "Did you apologize, Gary?"

I sulked indignantly, "I did already."

"Good." He turned back to Miss Waterflower in a melodramatic way that made Misty giggle, "Don't be too harsh on that kid, Misty," he pleaded with a bow, "That boy was just having a bad day, I promise he is usually a lot more agreeable and intelligent than last night." Subsequently, he elbowed me on the stomach in a not-so-subtle fashion.

I doubled over in pain. Miss Waterflower laughed. Blaine slapped me roughly on my back. "Say sorry again, Gary."

I glared at Blaine as I nursing my stomach _and_ my back with gentle fingers but decided to take the opportunity to make amends anyway, "I am sorry, Miss Waterflower." It was the more sophisticated way of dealing with the situation especially when I have to coexist comfortably with her in the same house for a few more days.

Miss Waterflower half heartedly turned back to the salad, for a few moments clearly in deep contemplation. "I am sorry too, Gary, I spoke unfairly this afternoon."

"Good! Now that stupid tension is gone we can start dinner!" Blaine announced with a clap of his hand.

We all grinned and set the table together. I took care of the utensils, Blaine went down to the basement for wine, and Miss Waterflower brought the food to the table. Everything seemed well again, we let our guards down, perhaps we should not have. Storms brew under sunny skies, but who would anticipate a storm in perfect weather? Who would expect what happened after this calm before the storm?

I was getting the cutleries when I suddenly remembered about the book I have left on the counter unattended, begging for an accident. I instantly swirled around, intending to quickly bring the book back up to the study, but I turned too late. The book was already in danger: Miss Waterflower's wet fingers hovered only one inch away. I reacted badly. "Don't touch that!"

At once Miss Waterflower's reaching hand retreated, confusion clear in her eyes. "I just want to look at it," she hastily explained before her stubborn fingers advanced for the book a second time.

Knives and forks forgotten, I strode to her just in time to snatch her hand away before any lasting damage occur. "Looking does not involve hands, Miss Waterflower," I reprimanded, my voice harsh, my eyes narrow, "When I said don't touch the book, I _meant_ don't touch the book."

"It's not like I would have ruined it!" she exclaimed, her temper flared and she twisted her wrist out of my grip.

"Yes you would have," I corrected in a dry voice, "your fingers are wet."

"My fingers are not wet enough to ruin any book," she insisted after one look at her fingers. "What's your problem? That's not even your book. I saw it in Blaine's study a few days ago." I opened my mouth to explain but she rambled on, "Just because I forgave you for yesterday doesn't mean you can just be an unreasonable ass, you know." She grabbed the book with lightning speed and before I could stop myself I let out an unmanly pained gasp.

"Give it back!" I demanded, reaching for the book.

She held the book up high: a challenge. "No."

"Give it back!" I tried to grab the book again just to find her move the book away. For some time we fought for the book, somewhat childishly as I later reflected, until finally she hid the book behind her back.

"_NO_!"

I scowled but withstood my temptation to reach for the book in front of her lest she wanted an excuse to call me a pervert on top of unreasonable ass and egotistic jerk.

Closing my eyes, and after breathing deeply, I tried a more diplomatic approach, "Miss Waterflower, _please_."

"Again, your fake civility!"

I could not believe Misty Waterflower and her twisted logic. "You only think I faked my civility because you have none yourself! Now for the last time, please give me the book _Miss_ Waterflower." She dashed around me but I was faster and I grabbed her wrist before she could escape. "Are you deaf?"

She shot me a glare and tried to pull her arm free but I tightened my grip and reached for the book with my other hand. I would have gotten it too if not for what she did next.

She threw the book: an unforgivable act.

I screamed a soundless scream as the book soar into the air in one smooth arc right into the sink. I ran over to where the book landed only to verify what I already knew: the book was ruined.

"You guys are in luck! I found a 1970 bottle… Hey, what's wrong? Gary?" I turned, slowly, deliberately, to face Blaine. He instantly noticed the wet book in my shaky hand. "_Oh Lord_…"

Next to me, Misty Waterflower made a frantic apology, undeniably shaken, " Blaine, I am sorry!"

"Misty, what did you do?" Blaine asked in a melancholic whisper.

"I was fighting with Gary over your book and… and I accidentally dropped the book into the sink, I am really sorry."

Blaine shook his head once. "You really should not be apologizing to me," he muttered, wiping his face with his hand, "That book is not mine."

"…What?"

"It's Gary's," Blaine explained tiredly, suddenly looking very old, "heirloom from his late parents."

"I hope, with that in mind, I am not as '_unreasonable_' as you said, Misty Waterflower?" I questioned, my voice soft and eerily calm. Misty Waterflower covered her mouth and for once in her life stayed silent at the right moment. "You know best whether or not _that_ was an _accident_. You wanted revenge for the shirt? You've got it. A book for a shirt. You win. Excuse me," I gave a short nod to Blaine and made my way to the door.

* * *

When I was young, before I took my first research project or considered science as a career, before I gain and lost my place as the pokémon master, before I watched Lance battle on television or met Ash, before I moved in with my grandfather, before I learned to hold back my tears, before I had any reasons to cry, before that one accident, my mother and father took turns reading to me at my bed side. 

On Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and every other Sunday father read me articles from the Times as well as chapters of his novel of the month that always revolved around politics and intrigues. I did not truly understand what he read, those passages were not written for children, but I loved the sound of his voice, a strange mix of knowledge, authority and gentleness. I used to interrupt him with questions every time he hit a long word or abstract concept and he used to patiently give answers. At a young age I knew words like pacifism, dystopian, totalitarianism, and liberalist. I used to throw these large words around at school. When a teacher tried to force me into a game of cop and robber, a game I hated with a passion, I would say, "Sorry, I can't play because that's against my beliefs as a pacifist." When I saw the schools geeks getting cornered by the school bullies I would say, "You autocrats should stop terrorizing him." By the miraculous the power of popularity I got away with all those lines, people liked me back then.

On Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, and every other Sunday mother told me ancient myths and read me chapters from her novel of the week that always revolved around gods, princes, and dragons. I did not truly understand what she read, she liked reading the unabridged versions of books way beyond my comprehension level but I loved the sound of her voice, so melodic, smooth, and exquisite like the finest Persian silk. She did not like being interrupted when she read so she made me write down the words I did not understand and wait till she was finished to check those words in the dictionary. At a young age I heard about twenty chapters from Lord of the Rings, random chapters from Le Morte D'Arthur, a few from Odyssey, and many other chapters from a long list of classics. From her I learned about characters like Zeus, Isis, Morgan le Fay, and the three Fates. I used to allude to them with lines like, "Tragic like Oedipus?" or "He is plain stupid, if you are going to nasty then you should at least have a brain like Loki." I liked demonstrating my knowledge, proving to the world that I knew more than other average elementary school students.

Then one night I found my bed-side empty and my room in a perfect dreadful silence.

That night Doctor Faustus and the Cat's Cradle, the two books my parents were reading, lied motionless on the shelves filled with books. That night I drifted into fitful sleep.

The next afternoon I found myself, a seven and a bit year old boy, at the front door of a foreign house, a solemn, unfamiliar man, my grandfather, awaiting behind the door.

* * *

Blaine has a habit of talking to his fish when he thinks no one can hear. "Come on, little one, swim up there for some, don't let fatty – that's the way! There's one more---" 

I interrupted him with a cough. I find that habit extremely depressing because of my preconception that only lonely old men talk to gold fish. I never thought it my place to comment on how sad I find his conversations with fish but I always stop him when I do see him at it.

"Ah Gary," He swirled around at my voice. "You are leaving now?"

He always knows without me speaking, I snorted in private amusement, "Your sixth sense told you?" I meant that as a joke so I laughed.

He did not laugh with me. "No, just your bags," he spoke, his lips tilted into a light smirk.

I shook my head and looked away, the saying 'parting is such sweet sorrow' swam in my mind. Then, I remembered Miss Waterflower will keep him company after I leave and the knowledge lent me comfort. "I just need to get away for a bit, there's an emergency in the lab." It was not a lie. An exploded water pump is definately considered an emergency.

"I hope that goes well," he responded in a deceptively kind tone but his eyes gave away his true feelings: he did not believe me at all.

"Me too."

"Gary, Misty she…" Blaine started but when words failed him he resorted to a simple earnest, apologetic gaze.

I combed my hair with my hand, "Miss Waterflower keeps seeing me at my worst and I at hers," I bowed my head and traced the tiles with my foot, "Perhaps we are just not meant to be friends."

"Don't say that…"

"I need to go," I interrupted, suddenly feeling desperate to end the conversation, "The last ferry off the island leaves in forty five minutes."

"I won't keep you then," Blaine sighed in defeat as he turned back to his goldfish, "I saved some dinner for you, take the lunch box on the counter with you."

I thanked him, grabbed the box, and walked into the night. As I walked, alone and quiet, I contemplated on void, loneliness, and the all consuming empty darkness.

* * *

Chapter Three Ends

* * *

Ori: Well that took a while. I had tons of trouble writing the second half. I sent my first draft to Maia Pen a very long time ago, all the way back in April, you can ask her. In my first draft the chapter was half the current length, but I realized I must end Gary's visit to Blaine's in this chapter for the story to have the same pace as what I have in mind. Thus, I had to write on despite frustration and the temptation to just give up. 

This story will be a Gary/Misty story, turmoil and obstacles are food for love.

Next chapter, there will be reconciliation, a better explanation to Misty's bias against Gary, May's second appearance, good food, shopping spree, old vendetta, and more!

Review if you have time! I would love you if you do!


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